


Boxed In (Smutty Follow-up)

by runawaycartoonist



Series: Boxer AU [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Boxer AU, M/M, Making Out, Mystery Trio, PWP, Slight Oral Sex, VERY light domination, bottom!stan, fiddlestan, smutty followup, top!fidds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaycartoonist/pseuds/runawaycartoonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ask and ye shall receive! Introducing Boxed In part two: Stan and Fiddleford get laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxed In (Smutty Follow-up)

**Author's Note:**

> Took me long enough, huh? I'm so embarrassed about posting this smh.  
> You don't need to read Boxed In first if you don't want, but it does give good context and adds to the suspense.

It had been a two hour drive back to Gravity Falls for the Mystery Trio. By the time they arrived, it was around ten o’clock at night, which wasn’t so bad. They ate pizza in the car, and when they got home they made popcorn and parked themselves in the living room to watch horror movies. Ford sat in the armchair, while Fiddleford draped himself over Stanley on the couch. They each had a can of beer in their hands.

“Best. Night. Ever,” said Stan, grinning despite the bruises on his face.

Ford was already on his third beer, and he never could hold his alcohol as well as Stanley. He was very giggly. “We got money, friends, food, and adventure! Life is  _ great! _ ”

“You doin’ okay over there, Sixer?” asked Stan.

“I’m  _ fine, _ ” he said, waving him off. “A-Okay, Stan. I’m… great!” He waved his arms emphatically, giggling like a teenaged girl. This set him off balance and he ended up on the floor, giggling into his hands.

“Christ, you’re so drunk.”

“I am  _ not  _ drunk,” he protested, waving a finger at him. “I’m not.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of England.”

Ford widened his eyes. “Whoa, when did  _ that  _ happen?”

“You’re a dork.” Stan glanced down at Fiddleford. “I’m gonna help my dumb brother to bed.”

“Sure thing, darlin’,” said Fiddleford, sitting up so Stan could get to his feet. “Looks like he needs it.”

Stan stood and grabbed his twin under his arms, hoisting him to his feet with very little effort.

“I’m not  _ tired, _ ” whined Ford, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

“Yeah, you are,” said Stan, slinging Ford’s arm over his broad shoulders. “Be right back, Fiddlestick.” Stan carried his brother out of the living room, into his bedroom, glad it was on the ground floor.

“Sure,” said Fiddleford dreamily.

Fiddleford relaxed back onto the couch, his hands folded behind his head. He could hear Stan stomping around as he tried to get Ford settled, and the TV was still emitting the faint screams of monster movie victims. Hard to believe that Ford had been a virtual stranger a few years ago, and that Stan had been nothing but a name less than six months ago. He couldn’t imagine his life without the twins… especially Stan.

Stan was gorgeous. From his scruffy, strong jaw to his huge hands and broad shoulders, to his loud laugh and enormous grin… he was simply wonderful. He was the perfect combination of strong, funny, and gruff but kind. Underneath his rough exterior, he was the biggest sweetheart, and Fiddleford adored that.

Fiddleford let his eyes close. He was a lucky man.

“Psst. Hey.”

Fiddleford opened his eyes. Stan was peering down at him, grinning.

“Mind if I slide in?” he asked. “Sixer was out like a light in two seconds, flat.”

“Sure.” Fiddleford stood up so Stan could lie down on the couch, again. He cuddled up against him, his hand resting on his chest.

“Um,” said Stan. “N-now that Ford’s asleep, we’ve got the house to ourselves, y’know?”

Fiddleford flushed from his neck to the roots of his hair. “Um… excuse me?”

“I’m just sayin’, we don’t gotta worry about disturbing Ford or nothin’. He’s completely out.” He chuckled nervously. “He never could hold his alcohol.”

Fiddleford grinned. He sat up, planting his hands firmly on Stan’s chest. “Oh, really? So what are you implying, Stanley Pines?”

“I, uh, y’know,” he said, flustered. “Just sorta wondering if you wanted to fool around. If you want, I mean.”

Fiddleford lightly trailed his fingertips down Stan’s chest. “How considerate of you to ask, darlin’.” He glanced up and couldn’t help grinning at how red Stan had become. “I might consider your offer.”

Stan laughed nervously, his hands resting on Fiddleford’s thighs. “So… what do you say? I-I mean, we don’t have to, y’know. Just if you want. It’s just-”

Fiddleford pressed his lips to Stan’s, his fingers tangling in his hair. He gently nipped at his lip, pulling away.

“You were babbling like a brook, darlin’,” said Fiddleford. He sat up, still straddling Stan’s hips. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Fiddleford slid off of him and walked towards the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder and smirked when he saw Stan’s adorable look of surprise.

“Coming?” he asked.

Stan could hardly get his feet under him quick enough. He stumbled after Fiddleford as he trotted up the creaky stairs.

Fiddleford’s heart pounded in his chest. He wondered whether Stan would try and fight him for dominance. He decided that he would be pleased no matter whether he topped or bottomed… but he wanted to attempt to control the situation, first.

Stan found himself pinned to the door by Fiddleford as soon as it shut behind them.

“So,” said Fiddleford, popping open the first button on his shirt. “How far’d you like to go tonight, darlin’?”

“I-I’m up for anything,” said Stan.

“C’mere.”

Stan leaned down and was pulled into a hard, passionate kiss. He let out a soft moan as Fiddleford’s hands slid underneath Stan’s shirt, and they separated for just a moment so it could be pulled over his head.

Fiddleford pulled away slightly and dotted gentle kisses over the bruises and cuts on Stan’s face. “Does it hurt, darlin’?”

“You’re helping,” said Stan, not able to contain his grin. He nuzzled his face against Fiddleford’s neck, gently digging his teeth in.

Fiddleford pressed himself against him, pushing him against the door. “Can I top ya, darlin’?”

“T-top?” stuttered Stan, pulling away. He flushed red and offered a nervous smile. “I’ve never done  _ that  _ before, y’know. I’ve been with a few girls, but just-”

“Hush. I’ll guide you through it.” He had about the same amount of experience with guys as Stan had, but he’d seen enough dirty movies and read enough books to know what to do. He pressed another kiss to Stan’s collar, then pulled him over to the bed and pushed him down.

Fiddleford unbuttoned his shirt, the back of his neck feeling hot as Stan ate him up with his eyes. Stanley’s hands slid from his thighs up to his stomach and chest, helping him pull off his shirt.

“God, you look good,” said Stan, running his fingers over Fiddleford’s happy trail, making him giggle. “Aw, you’re ticklish.”

Fiddleford pushed his hand away. “Shut up!” He dove down and pressed a passionate kiss to Stan’s lips.

Stan parted his lips and moaned when Fiddleford pushed his tongue in. He squirmed as  his jeans were unzipped and pulled down. Stan kicked them off the rest of the way, and Fiddleford shucked off his own trousers.

Fiddleford smirked when he saw the tent in Stan’s boxers, and he pulled off his glasses and set them aside. He leaned down and mouthed Stan’s erection through the fabric. The cloth was not much to his taste, but Stan’s moans certainly were.

“Aw,  _ f-fuck, _ ” he gasped out, his hips stuttering.

Fiddleford chuckled and sat up, pressing a hand onto Stan’s chest. “Doin’ okay, Darlin’?”

“Pssh, yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

Fiddleford ran a hand over his chest, tweaking one of his nipples between his fingers. Stan squirmed a little. “That’s so precious, you’re so  _ sensitive! _ ”

“I’m not precious,” he muttered, his face bright red.

“I wanna fuck you, Stanley Pines.”

Stan widened his eyes and spluttered for a few moments, making Fiddleford chuckle again. What would the world think if they knew that Stanley “Knuckles” Pines was the biggest sweetheart that ever dwelt upon this good Earth? Fiddleford thanked the Lord above for Stanley Pines as he ran his hands down his thick thighs, feeling the muscle rippling with tension. He trailed his lips down Stan’s stomach before stopping at the edge of his boxers.

“You good, darlin’?” asked Fiddleford, peering up at him.

“Fit as a Fiddleford,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

Fidds snorted and tugged Stan’s boxers down.

Oh, my. The man was thick and hard, cock already damp with precum. Fiddleford remembered what his ex wife used to do to him after a long day, promptly put her out of his mind, and lowered his mouth to Stan’s cock.

“ _ Nng! _ ” Stan let out a strangled sound and tangled one hand in the sheets, carding his other hand through Fiddleford’s sandy blonde hair.

Fiddleford smirked. He didn’t think that this would appeal to him, but oh god, it was so fucking hot. Stan still tasted like sweat so it wasn’t the  _ most  _ pleasant flavour, but hearing his grunts and moans more than made up for it. He took him deeper, moaning against his dick, his hands grasping at Stan’s hips. Stan tried to thrust up a tiny bit, but Fidds pinned him down, knowing that Stan could easily take control if he really wanted to, grab at Fiddleford’s hair and fuck his mouth hard. Fiddleford knew that he could, but he also knew that Stan wouldn’t do that. At least, not this time. He wasn’t gonna lie. That scenario definitely appealed to him.

Fiddleford pulled away, a string of saliva connecting his lip to Stan’s dick before breaking when he wiped his mouth. Stan let out a soft whine.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked quietly.

Fiddleford sat up straight, straddling his thighs. “Darlin’, I don’t wan’cha to come before the main event, do I?”

Stanley blushed. “So, um… I have lube in the drawer… and condoms.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” said Fiddleford, his hand lightly caressing his stubbly cheek as he slid off the bed to pad over to the side table. He opened it and found a first aid kit, brass knuckles, a gun, lube, condoms, and a small black journal. He grabbed what he needed and kicked off his boxers, turning to Stan.

“How d’you wanna do this, darlin’?” asked Fiddleford coyly.

Stan sighed and looked him over with a dreamy expression. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Fidds blushed and smiled. “Answer the question, Stanley.” Fiddleford crawled back onto the bed. “Do you want me to take you from on top or behind?”

Stan gave half a smile. “Whatever you think is best, Fiddlenerd.”

“Get on your knees.”

Stan raised his eyebrows, but the smile didn’t leave his face. He rolled over so his ass was in the air, his head resting on his arms. “Thought you’d want our first time to be face-to-face.”

“Does this position bother you?” asked Fiddleford, admiring Stan with utter shamelessness. 

“Not a bit.”

“Good.” He ran his hands over Stan’s backside, squeezing experimentally. Hard muscle, padded with a layer of fat that felt wonderful under his fingertips. He slapped his ass gently, and Stan let out a moan.

“W-want you so bad,” he grunted out.

Fiddleford was also painfully hard. He pressed himself against Stan so he could feel it. “Want me to fuck you?” he said lowly.

“ _ Yes!  _ Fuck yeah!” He pressed back against him.

Fiddleford clicked the lube open and poured some onto his fingers before grabbing one of Stan’s cheeks with his free hand, spreading him, and pressing his fingers to his entrance, massaging small circles.

Stan let out a shudder. He keened as Fiddleford cautiously slid one finger in.

“You’re so good at taking this, Stan,” he said sweetly. He traced his gaze over his taut muscles, his gentle curves, his blissed expression, mostly hidden by his pillow. “Darlin’, you look like a work of art.”

Stan shivered and arched back towards him. “You sweet talker,” he said, smirking over his shoulder.

Fiddleford eased another finger into him, pushing in deep and scissoring. Stan moaned, long and loud, and gave a full body shudder as Fiddleford’s long, clever fingers prodded at a sensitive spot deep inside him.

“ _ Nng!  _ F-Fidds, please-”

Fiddleford added another finger. “Darlin’, you sound so sweet when you beg. Mind doing it a little more?”

“ _ F-fuck! _ ” he moaned. “C-c’mon, Fidds, don’t make me-”

Fiddleford hooked his fingers just so and Stan practically howled.

“ _ Arg!  _ F-Fidds, for the love of God, please fuck me! P-please, I need you…” He buried his face in the pillow and moaned.

Fiddleford pulled his fingers out and grabbed the condom. He opened it and rolled it on carefully, relishing the sight of Stan below him, open and ready for the taking. He gripped Stan’s cheeks and spread him wide, lining himself up with his entrance.

Stan pushed back against him, whining.

“Shh,” said Fiddleford, rubbing soothing circles in his lower back. “Relax, darlin’. No need to be in a hurry. We got all night.”

Stan groaned again, fingers digging into his pillow.

Fiddleford finally stopped teasing and pushed into him. Stan let out a satisfied moan, rutting back against him.

“Alright, darlin’?” Fiddleford asked, his hands squeezing Stan’s hips. God, it was hard to keep it together. Stan felt so damn good around him. He was gorgeous, his hair tousled and messy, sweat dripping down his back and shoulders, his muscular frame trembling against him.

“Good,” he murmured. “Fuck me, Fidds. P-please.”

Fiddleford leaned down and pressed a kiss between Stan’s shoulder blades. He snapped his hips forward, hilting himself in Stan with a grunt.

Fiddleford wasn’t overly forceful, but he did control the pace entirely, and that pace was  _ passionate. _ He pressed a hand onto Stan’s lower back to steady himself as he thrust into him again and again, gasping as the pleasure built up inside of him. The mattress creaked as he thrust, and he didn’t give a shit. All he could focus on was  _ Stan, Stan, Stan. _ How gorgeous he looked, how he sounded, how he felt around his cock.

Stan groaned and moaned Fiddleford’s name brokenly, rocking back into his thrusts. His sweaty hands grasped at the sheets and at his pillow, and when Fiddleford struck his prostate he practically wailed.

“ _ Oh please, Fidds, fuck me! _ ”

Nothing sounded sweeter to Fiddleford in that moment. He dug his fingers into Stan’s hip, and slid his other hand around to wrap around his cock. He stroked him as he thrust, and after only a few more thrusts, Stan spilled over his hand with a groan. His body was tense and shaking underneath him, dangerously close to slumping into the mattress. His eyes were wide, blown and unfocused, and he gasped out in a hoarse voice.

“ _ F-F-Fidds! _ ”

Fiddleford had never seen anything more erotic in his whole life.

Fidds thrust into him with renewed vigor, Stan letting out small moans from the overstimulation as his prostate was touched again and again. Those noises fuelled Fiddleford’s fervor, and Stan spoke up to egg him on.

“C’mon, Fiddleford,” said Stan, pushing back into him despite his fatigue. “Come for me, baby.”

Fidds let out a long, low moan and shuddered as he came. His heart pounded in his chest and he dug his fingers into Stan’s hips hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises. He barely had the energy to pull out and throw away the condom.

Big, strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him against Stan. Stan tilted his head with a gentle hand and brought him into a soft kiss. Fiddleford returned it enthusiastically, one arm draped around Stan’s broad shoulders.

“That was so good,” murmured Stan against Fiddleford’s jaw.

“Mm,” agreed Fidds, snuggling in close to him. “I wanted that for so long, darlin’.”

“Me too, heh.” Stan settled down into the bed, pulling the rucked up and sweaty covers over the two of them. “We have  _ got  _ to do that again, sometime.”

“How about tomorrow?” suggested Fiddleford cheekily.

Stan grinned. “Sounds like a plan, babe.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.” Fiddleford kissed one of the bruises on the boxer’s cheek before curling up against him.

Stan fell asleep within the minute, and Fiddleford followed not long after. He counted his blessings, gently running his fingers over Stan’s chest. He felt like the luckiest man alive.

_ I love him so much,  _ he thought.

He hadn’t slept so soundly in many years.

...

Stanford was wide awake, downstairs. The creaking bedsprings and moans of his brother and best friend had died down a few minutes ago, but that’s not something you can just delete from your mind.

Ford rubbed his eyes and groaned, vowing to buy himself a good pair of earplugs. “I should have just stayed in my fuckin’ lane.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't read the tags, I bet you were expecting Stan to top, hey? Well, nope! Because Fidds is a minx and Stan is such. a. sub.  
> I hope you enjoyed this dirty fic!


End file.
